


A Night's Rest

by GrimLegate



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Holy tags Batman, Multi, Nightmares, Spoilers, self conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimLegate/pseuds/GrimLegate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because, nothing beats a night with the one you love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night's Rest

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of a list of headcannons about how the LI's in Inquisition sleep with their Inquisitor.

Sleep comes easily to him. It has been this way since he was a small child, the beginning of his journeys into the Fade. Slipping into unconsciousness was an easy task, namely because he was always eager to see his friends once again. Always eager to explore and to learn.

He curls into himself, one arm spread out to the side, while the other stays clutched to his chest, right over his heart. The position is the most comfortable to him, the easiest way to slip away.

And for how easily he finds that he falls asleep, he is confused as to why sleep escapes him now. Maybe it’s the woman beside him, her lithe body pressed into his side, her hair tickling his nose. It’s was fairly cold in the Emprise, so they had doubled up tents, Kaylau and himself, and Blackwall and Varric. She had drifted off to sleep the minute her head hit the pillow, and she had quickly curled into him once he had lain beside her.

He had lain there for at least an hour before giving up on the sleep that alluded him. He found small comfort in watching her, the small crease in her brow gone, the way that her vallaslin moved as her brow twitched. He has only ever done this once before, when she had stumbled into the rotunda and had laid down, her head in his lap, while he was on the couch reading. He had eventually dozed off as well.

He always wondered what she dreamed of. He had caught a few words and unfamiliar names, but mostly she would just lay there, her breathing light and her face expressionless. He tries to memorize her face, the way her nose curves downward, the way her lips naturally curve, the small scar under her eye. Some that he knows would pass over her without much of a second thought, but he thinks she is the most beautiful person in the world.

She stirs beneath him with a sleepy sound, and her light eyes look up, sleepy and puffy. Her ears wiggle slightly and she squirms a little beside him.

“Have you gone to sleep yet?”

He knew that the question was inevitable, and he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. She makes a small noise in response.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” He replies. He smiles before continuing. “But, no. I have not.”

She whines before her arms come up and wrap loosely around his shoulders before pulling him close.

“Go to sleep, vhenan. It’s lonely without you.” She says quietly, shifting to readjust herself in this new position. “Show me the ruins of Arlathan. Or maybe a temple of some kind.” She requests softly. He nods before linking his arms around her.

“Ma’arlath, ma vhenan.”

___________________________

It almost breaks Bull’s heart to turn down the small elven man. To watch as his face splits into a small frown.He and the Inquisitor had ‘slept’ together on many occasions, but never really slept together. He would let Mehennon affectionately cuddle against him, coming down from his high, before Iron Bull would excuse himself. And even though it had been a few weeks since he had been gifted the dragon tooth, and had proclaimed Mehennon his Kadan, neither had made the move to change their usual arrangement. Well, until today.

He had come in, practically bouncing, before plopping down on Bull’s lap and kissing him. He had returned the gesture, shooting a rather rude one behind Mehennon’s back to Krem he was leaning around from his little corner making a gagging gesture. The elf had pulled back before asking him to join him in his room and to sleep together. At first Bull had thought he was asking to have sex, but soon the Inquisitor had made his point clear, that he wanted Bull to spend the night with him.

Now his kadan was frowning on his lap, an awful expression that Bull wants to kiss away, the disappointing stinging more than the many blades he’s taken for the man. He raises his massive hand to the elf’s face before leaning forward to kiss him apologetically.

“Now stop that, I didn’t mean it like that. I would love to do that kadan, but we would have a rather large problem on our hands.” He explains, raising his other hand to his horns, the rather glaring problem of his comfort, considering it was hard to find a position that left him comfortable, and that’s not taking into consideration the other man.

It takes the elf a few seconds to understand before a smile splits his face again.

“Exactly! I think I’ve found a solution, just come on, and trust me!”

Bull raises his brow before being pulled to his feet by the once again eager elf. He is pulled through the courtyard and the main hall, slightly hindered by the nobles around them, too busy staring at the unlikely couple to not be an obstacle on their way to his room.

Eventually once they are up the stairs Bull finally sees what his elven lover was so excited about. The bed that had been there before was a tiny thing, just enough for the Inquisitor to be able sleep comfortably. Now in it’s place sat a behemoth of a bed, easily thrice the size of the old one, and the head of the bed was littered with large pillows, and a thick duvet that looked warm.

He looks back to his kadan, who gives him and excited nod, before he walks over to the large bed and sits on it. The bed shifts under his weight but it does not creaked like the other did. He scoots until he leans comfortably against the headboard, and he realises why there is so many damn pillows. He quickly shifts them around before his is laying in a similar fashion to how he sits in his chair.

Mehennon practically jumps into the bed with him, scooting closer until they are touching on the covers. The smaller man was practically bouncing on the bed, before Bull pulls him closer to his chest, and he understands his excitement. He had found a way for the two to easily lay together, something Mehennon hadn’t ever had the luxury to do comfortably, unless he wanted to be seen sprawled out across Bull, and trying to make sure he didn’t roll onto the floor.

“So,” He starts, his face full of hope and a small bit of anxiousness. “Do you like it? Is it comfortable enough?” Bull can only laugh, before pressing a small kiss to his head.

“Of course, kadan. It touches me that you’d go to such lengths to lay with me.” He teases, and soon his elven lover is pressed against his side, arms wrapped along his shoulders to hold on, and he lays his head over Bull’s heart, the deep thrumming helping the elf to remind himself, Yes, his vhenan is there. He is alive, and here.

Bull is content to lay in silence, and so, he wraps his arm around his lover, a small affectionate word on his lips, the comfortableness of the bed pulling him to join his lover in sleep, and so he does, drifting off with his small dark lover, who is smiling even in his sleep.

___________________________

He’s always struggled with his sleep. His dreams, his nightmares, and the guilt all keep him from a full night’s rest. They are only content with him having few hours of rest at best, the thoughts taunting him and keeping him awake. He is able to get an hour or so of reprieve that his mind and body craves, his silent stillness giving nothing away to the dark thoughts and dreams that haunt his sleep.

He awakens to find himself tangled in his thoughts, his guilt, and he is helpless to sit there and think, until his mind is too exhausted to carry on and he drifts back into slumber, only to repeat the process once or twice more, before he pushes himself to his feet to meet the sun and the first of those to rise in Skyhold.

He remembers the Inquisitors concern when she asks him about his sleep. He knows that for the better part, he wakes up every morning and goes about his day, the dark circles under his eyes speaking to the torments of his sleep. When he tells her, that night he finds her, a large blanket as well as a few pillows in her grasp, before announcing that she was going to be staying with him.

He tries to dissuade the giantess into sleeping in her own quarters, that she needs not to worry about him, but she is firmly set and she sets it all up. He watches in a quiet pout, much like a child being forced to do something. Eventually she has the pillows set to keep her head lifted, and her horns out of the way before she pulls the bear of a man with her, and under the thick blanket and animal skins. 

He is helplessly pulled against the larger warrior who whispers little sweet words into his ear which he doesn’t understand, but it brings him a small bit of peace. Eventually he falls asleep his head laid upon her chest, her heart beating a deep staccato, directing his dreams like a beat leads a bard. Eventually the thoughts catch up and he is driven from his sleep and into reality, but when he awakens, he is not alone.

Kirisaan is staring into his eyes, her orange-red eyes, calm and warm, a small hush on her lips. He feels her kiss, a soothing balm for his thoughts and she brings him from the guilt and raises him higher than he has thought of himself in years. She murmurs small words in Qunlat and in English. Kadan, and, love, and her warden. Her words fills his thoughts, chases away the darkness that lurks at the edge of his conscious. She lulls him back to sleep, and every time after, she meets him in waking and leads him back to the sleep his body craves, and eventually he wakes up less and less with him Qunari lover by him.

___________________________

She remembers how Leliana had spoiled her when they had gotten Skyhold into a decent state of repair, quickly taking care of her quarters, filling the space with small little comforts. And her bed. Her bed was always a warm nest of blankets and pillows that she wouldn’t trade for the world. Swathed in the thick warm bundle she was nice and warm, even on the coldest nights in Skyhold.

She would retire from her desk, push away the stack of papers after the last candle had burned down, glad to return to her room and curl into her pillows. It was how she got away, either from work or dealing with family affairs, she would retire behind the walls of her room and relax.

Or she would find Vesuvian.

It wasn’t until lately that she would find herself gravitating towards him when she was feeling overwhelmed. And he was always willing to sit with her for a while and offer whatever comfort he could. Usually that comfort came in the form of sitting on the rich sofa in his room in front of the fire, and reclining in his arms.

In fact that was currently where she found herself. She was lying half-on and half-off his lap, his arms wrapped awkwardly around her upper body, but he never complained. Her head was buried into the crook of his neck, and she enjoyed the smell of elfroot and wilds about him, as well as the warmth he radiated in this cold place.

He had dozed off in the time that they had spent together, and she looked up at his resting features. Her head turns to the balcony window and she nearly tumbled off of the sofa and her lover. The sky outside is a inky black, the only thing permeating the darkness is the stars scattered in a smatter of constellations that she has heard Vesuvian recite in their time together.

Her sudden movement stirs the mage from his light sleep, a tired murmur escapes his lips, a half-heard, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s already night! I cannot believe I let the time get away from me.”

She berates herself, and she knows that this indulgence of rest is going to mean having to catch up on the paperwork that was undoubtedly laying on her desk outside the war room. Vesuvian catches her in his arms and murmurs a soft apology into her shoulder. She appreciates the gesture and relaxes a little in his embrace. Eventually she pulls away from the warm hug.

“Well, it is late and I think I’ll retire to my room for tonight, love.”

She is eager to return to her room, her little nest of pillows and blankets, but the mage stops her. Its a small hand on her wrist that he gently pulls towards himself.

“It’s past midnight, and I wouldn’t even think of letting you walk back to your quarters at this hour. Leliana would kill me if she thought I had kicked you out of my room at this hour.” He teases, a gentle hand leading her to his own bed, which, to her, looks not nearly as comfortable as her own bed. “So, would you join me for the rest of the night?” He asks in this sweet drawl that leaves her unable to refuse.

They turn their backs toward each other as they undress. Vesuvian catches Josephine staring at least twice, her face turning redder each time that he feels her eyes on him, before turning and flexing when he meets her eyes. 

When they are in their night clothes they settle into the bed, and Josephine is disappointed. That is, until Vesuvian links his arms around her middle and she is pulled close to him, and her back touches his bare chest, his warmth more comfortable than any blanket or pillow could ever be. She quickly dozes off in his arms while he lays awake watching her sleep, and though she will vehemently deny snoring, he laughs quietly under his breath at the quietly little snores that escape her mouth.

___________________________

She can hear them outside of the tent. Iron Bulls loud laugh, a quick witted comment from Dorian, and an even quicker rebuttal from Denove. Despite how she had carried herself into the camp, she had ached, and most of her limbs throbbed with an awful pain that made it feel as if someone had sliced down them lengthwise.

She knew that they had all taken a beating, but their way of relaxing involved a few strong drinks and a good laugh to help ease the pain. If it helped, good for them, but all she needed right now, the one thing that her body craved more than anything was sleep. So she laid out the bedroll and slipped beneath it, hoping that Denove would come soon.

It was nearly an hour later before she woke up to the sound of the tent being opened followed by a small figure slipping in before closing it. She tensed slightly beneath the bedroll, before speaking into the darkness.

“Denove?” She calls into the darkness, and the figure stops, kneeled over near her and her lover’s packs.

“Yes, love?” He responds, turning to her.

“I was just making sure it was you.” She says, the tenseness gone from her. He chuckles before kissing her and shedding his armor. Once the coat is gone from his shoulders, he sheds his undershirt and pulls the tight binder off his breasts before placing a new undershirt on. He joins her beneath the bedroll covers as he begins to feel the slight bite of the cold on his skin.

The stoic woman pulls him close, happy to be close to him, to feel him, warm and alive. He wraps his arms around her and her hand finds purchase on his breast, where she can feel his heartbeat, strong and healthy beneath her hand. It was a habit she had formed and he was more than willing to let her, not wanting to take something away that made her comfortable.

She falls asleep first, and he can see her whole body relax. Her mouth parts from the pursed thin line it usually is, and her brow softens, her whole being finding a calm in the storm that is the world. Denove watches her face, smiling and whispers sweet affections before joining her in sleep, a peaceful smile on both their faces.

___________________________

With how oft he responds to others jabs with bravado and showboating, one wouldn’t think the Tevinter man would ever be ‘lonely.’ It’s only on the nights where his dreams sit futilely out of reach, that he curls into himself, the sheets on the bed drifting over bare skin like ghostly fingertips. His arm remains crooked behind his head, fingers curled into the hair at the base of his neck. His knees are tucked tightly to his chest, his other arm slung across his legs to clutch as the sheets on the other side. 

He chides himself within the darkness of his room, how absolutely ridiculous he is acting. Goodness Dorian, now really. Is this any way to act? But the loneliness lays over him thickly, his thoughts now full awake. 

He thinks about stalking through the main hall to Aromind’s room, falling into the large bed with the dwarven man. But no, he isn’t certain if he will be welcome, and he wants to retain some kind of dignity, and the way to keep that certainly wasn’t sulking back through the hall after he is rejected from the man’s bed. 

Does he think that the Inquisitor will do that? Not at all, but when you live with the fact that anything more than a quick fling isn’t welcome, he cannot help but doubt himself, and Aromind, even though they had shared small acts of affection in the library, A quick kiss here, a brief hug there, and of course the more than often times where Aromind will grab his hand while he is reading, somehow managing to be sufficient at turning the pages, even though his other hand is occupied.

It’s a soft knock, almost inaudible to the mage, but the soft brush of knuckle on wood catches his attention, and he loathes to leave the bed, no matter how lonely he may be. He slides over the side, taking the whole sheet with him. It trails along the floor as soft feet pad over to the thick wooden door. It creaks softly when he opens it, the small groaning of the wood, almost drowned out by the small noise of surprise that Dorian makes when he sees the man he’s been pining after the whole time in his room.

Aromind’s there, a soft apologetic smile on his scruffy face, the stubble just about the only thing the archer could grow. When he spies Dorian’s nightly attire his face splits into a wide grin, his eyes raising to catch Dorian’s who almost feels embarrassed that the Dwarven man had been eying him up.

“That is quite the state of dress you are in. Are you modeling some new mage robes? If so I have to steal the schematic for it.” He jabs playfully, stepping fully into the room as Dorian steps away, leaving him room to get in the door. Dorian huffs slightly before bothering to give him an answer.

“If you must know, this is the highest state of fashion in the Imperium. I hear that it’s catching on in the Orlesian parties as well. I thought maybe I could model it at the ball for the Empress.” He rebukes swaying over to his bed, sitting down with as much grace as possible in his state of exhaustion. He pats the bed softly for Aromind, who had been standing near the door, waiting for Dorian to give him a sort-of ‘Okay.’

“But of course, I would never imagine you wearing anything but the most fashionable attire to the Ball.” He chuckles before sitting on the bed beside Dorian, slipping his hand into Dorian’s, short, thick finger twining with the mage’s graceful digits. Dorian’s heart nearly leaps as his fingers twine with the archer’s, the pad of his thumbs rubbing soothingly over the side of his hand. Dorian can hardly find his voice for a minute or so before he remembers his surprise to find his lover at his door.

“So, my Lord Inquisitor, how can I be of service to you on such a fine night as this?” He prys, once again his high and mighty persona shining through, trying to hide the quick fluttering of his heart, heavy in his chest. His chin is tilted up ever so slightly as he casts a side glance to the Dwarven man who smiles. When he feels Aromind’s fingers leave his, he suddenly feels cold, regardless that his heart refuses to stop palpitating in the most distracting way.

“Your Lord Inquisitor? I’m surprised to see you openly admitting that I’m yours.” He starts, priding himself on the partial blush he manages to pull onto Dorian’s dark complexion. “Anyway, I was wondering if you would be terribly abhorred to the idea of me staying the night. It does get awfully cold and lonely up in that tower.”

Dorian’s mouth goes dry at the idea. There is the harsh anxiety at the back of his mind, the ever nagging serpent of doubt. He’s not interested in sleeping with you, he’s interested in sleeping with you. Once again, the years of hiding, the years of telling himself that there was nothing more to the flings he had had, that there would never be anything between him and another man.

But, he remembers the soft sighs, filled with softer words, gentle touches, with anything but ulterior motives, the soft worshipping of golden skin, and just how long he has put up with Dorian’s insecurity of their relationship, a thousand times told, “You are worthy of love, I want more than your body, you are the person I am in love with.”

He raises his head to meet Aromind’s concerned eyes, and he manages to soothe the serpent of doubt in his mind. 

“My, my, the Lord Inquisitor, but I am the evil Magister! What will the Mother say if she ever found out about midnight trysts between us?”

“I bet she would be scandalized, and I know how much you love making the Mothers and Sisters faint at the thought of us sharing a bed.” He states, stepping forward before he is stood before the smirking Altus, a callused hand finding purchase on the mage’s knee, once again speeding up Dorian’s once calm heart. His eyes are hopeful and Dorian cannot help but concede to the idea, not willing to spend another night alone. Not when the Inquisitor has sought him out. 

When Dorian gives his assent he swings his long legs onto the bed, spreading the sheets out once again, falling into his natural position, both his arms tucked behind his head, and a leg crooked against the other as Aromind pulls his tunic up and over his head before folding it and placing it on the mage’s reading table, books and loose vellum strewn along the table.

The Dwarven man crawls into the bed, quickly nestling beneath the sheets, and helping Dorian pull the duvet at the end of the bed towards them. Once the covers are settled Dorian closes his eyes, the warmth of the other man’s body a calming presence, until he feels the man settle at Dorian’s side, a thick arm thrown across Dorian’s side. He spares a glance at the Dwarven man, who nearly retracts his arm until Dorian curls over, and snakes an arm around the other man as well, who smiles at Dorian, a kiss and a small, ‘I love you.’ Marking the beginning of their night together.

___________________________

To put it lightly, his nights are hell.

The memories and the lyrium withdrawal are a hellish mix, if one does not torment him, the other does. His waking hours are filled with the pain of the withdrawals, the aches and pains, the days where he wakes up feverish, confused on where exactly he is, and other times he has had such shear headaches that the scouts will often scatter when he comes, for fear of the short temper caused by the pain.

Then there are the memories. he has tried everything to be rid of the hellish nightmares that plague his sleep, but nothing has managed to stave them off for longer than a short couple of days, and even those are nothing but the sleepless depth of black. He can see the abominations, the demon that takes her form and it kills him every time, because he wants to give in, to give up, but every time when he comes close to breaking he shouts himself awake, before curling into himself and weeping into the early hours of the morning, because nothing is worse than the awful pulls and tugs of his memories torturing him to the breaking point.

The pain of those memories, how they have hammered the suffering into his heart, wards him away from her. He cannot allow himself to fall for another mage, not when the last one still plagues his memories, and the demon who takes her form taunts him. Not when the last time, it lead to so much heartache when he had been so happy. he knew it wasn’t allowed, him and everyone else, but she had made him so extremely happy, the chaste moments where they would sit together, hidden behind an alcove between the bookcases, talking to each other, savouring little moments together before they had to return to their lives.

Now there’s another, with the same golden hair that falls over her features, the same soft laugh that pulls him in, and he cannot help but fall for her. However, Ariste is… Lighter, in a sense. He cannot put the feeling into words, but he cannot help but feel as though Ariste had a more of a glow to her, the peace that had embedded itself into her actions, how everything she seemed to do was without ulterior motive.

The same golden Herald was currently undressing in his room, where his mind was screaming to end this. It was an innocent night, Ariste had grown tired of sleeping alone, so she had asked to spend her nights with him. And, Maker, how can he say no to her when she has the look of adoration on her face. And now he is terrified of hurting her, of thrashing in his sleep, and her finally realising how hopeless he is, and how his past has shattered his peace.

When she turns around, she looks slightly embarrassed. She is tugging and pulling on her night dress adjusting it, seeing some invisible problem, when to him, she looks gorgeous. Then he sees the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and he steps forward quickly, raising his hands to wipe away the salty drops.

“Ariste, what’s wrong, love?”

He questions, holding his lovers face, before she hiccups slightly. 

“I wanted to look nice, but t-this… I don’t have a woman’s body! It doesn’t look right.”

Oh. That. He remembers the discussion of what was, or rather wasn’t, in Ariste’s pants, and the relief she felt when he refused to call her anything other than what she desired to be called. But he can see what she means. The cut of the sheer dress is meant to accentuate breasts, where Ariste has flat planes of chest, and the dress is meant for someone with curves, not the straight planes of her body.

He pulls her into a tight embrace, whispers of compliments filling her ears. He thinks she is beautiful regardless of the fact that she may not have large breasts or curves, but the fact that she glows with confidence, and how she is the light for him and all the others. When he pulls away, she looks more calm, and she smiles up at him, which makes his heart jump, a feeling that nearly gives him deja vu it has been so long.

“If it bothers you that much you can borrow one of my shirts, love.”

She nods and sifts through the drawers before handing her an oversized tunic, which she dons, twirling in it in a childlike manner, before falling backwards onto his bed, the mattress compressing underneath her weight, the soft poof bringing a smile to her lips. He laughs at her, the anxiety from earlier dissipating if only for a couple of moments. He follows her and she pulls him closer, lips brushing in a promise of love and gentleness, and she scoots to make room for him on his bed.

This is where he finally speaks. “Ariste,” He starts, gathering her attention with how serious he has become. “Are you sure you want to stay? I get horrible nightmares, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt from my thrashing.” His voices rings with concern to which she answers with a soft touch on his arm and the intense look on her face. 

“I’m sure.”

He finally relents, knowing nothing would change her mind. He puts out the small candle next to his bed, before turning to Ariste, her turns on her side, and presses her back against his chest, where he throws an arm over her side, her fingers finding his. It wasn’t the most practical position, her hair tickles his face, and he has a feeling that the arm beneath his pillow will fall asleep long before he does, but he enjoys the closeness.

They settle into that position, and she falls asleep first, the tension that he barely notices is there vanishes, and her breath softens and deepens on into a steady rhythmic beat, to which he is calmed by. He staves off sleep for as long as possible, but before long he finds the clutches of sleep are too strong and it pulls him under.

Once again she is there, or rather the demon he knows is masquerading as her, the wicked smile upon her lips, as her touches tempt him, it’s barely any time before he is shaking, wishing for the nightmare to end when a burst of dazzling light singes the demoness, and from the light steps Ariste, who pulls him up, and leads him from the dark, where they explore Ferelden. She leads them through the Fade, and guards him from the memories that threaten to break through.

___________________________

Nights at the Herald’s Rest is always filled with one celebration or another, and this time, it’s the death of another high dragon. Her and Sera, as well as Bull and his Chargers, had joined them, leading the whole of the tavern with the newest song, ‘The High Dragon’s Hide.’ It was a cheeky song about the tough hide of the dragons and a witty Qunari mercenary who, through guile and mischief, managed to trick the dragon into giving her the hide, from which she made the strongest armor known to man.

All of the patrons loved it, and soon enough Annaran, Sera, and Bull were leading the whole of the tavern in song, even Cole came down from the top of the building to sit near them. Annaran was sure that they kept more than half of Skyhold up that night with their singing, which only got louder the more and more drinks were passed around to them. Eventually there was something with one of the Chargers being lifted on a chair, she wasn’t quite sure. After a couple of strong drinks it got a little fuzzy.

By the time her and her lover managed to get up to the room on the second floor, most of the patrons had stumbled back to their rooms or were passed out at random intervals at the tables. Her and Sera had fallen onto the cushions, her elven lover sprawled across the Qunari woman. The blonde elf squirmed on top of the mountainous woman, pressing slobbery kisses to her cheeks and neck, her hands grabbing at whatever she damn well pleased, whether that was a hip, or a breast, Sera wasn’t picky.

The giant woman pressed a gentle kiss to Sera, which seemed to settle down the small elf for a short while, before finally settling with her arms wrapped around her neck. Annaran gently traced small circles into her smaller lovers back. Annaran’s arms finally settled on Sera’s lower back and settled into rhythmic breathing, trying to sleep…

Well, that was until her lover managed to drool, all over her neck. She nearly threw the elf off her, who wasn’t to pleased at being thrown from her oversized pillow.

“What d’you think you're doin’?!”

“You drooled on me!”

When Sera looked to where Annaran was rubbing she saw the slobbery mess she had left on her lover's neck and shoulder. After a few moments of staring she burst into laughter, while Annaran huffed, before she face split into a small smile. She pulled the smaller woman to her, ending up with Sera partially straddling her.

“You are awful, you know that?”

‘Heh, yup.”

Annaran pulled her further backwards until they were a giggling pile of limbs tangling together. They peppered kiss along eachothers lips and faces, until they settled back into a position they could sleep in, once again Sera grabbing a handful of tit in the process.

**Author's Note:**

> The (sort-of kinda) sequel to When They Realise, featuring the same characters as before. Please leave kudos and comment if you would like to see more.


End file.
